


The Enlightenment of a Man

by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Orgasms, Awkward Dean Winchester, Dean is In Over His Head, Empathy, F/M, Forced Empathy, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Non-Penetrative Sex Toys, Sex Toys, Sex Toys Under Clothing, though totally predictable, vibrating panties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 00:33:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16800148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier/pseuds/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier
Summary: A few days ago, the undies you thought would warm your body so well turned out to be vibrating panties.  Gah!  For the love of Thor!  How mortifying.  But Dean’s got a plan to make it all better….Sequel toThe Wonders of Modern Technology.





	The Enlightenment of a Man

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to mrswhozeewhatsis for her enduring beta work.

Dean has, he feels, spent an appropriate amount of effort to get his hands on your panties.

“Oh man,” he frowns. “‘At’s snug.” And they are, on him. But not so tight as to be uncomfortable. More… insistent.

Somewhere, on his way to getting this little job set up, he’d become quite determined. The idea had rooted itself into his plans without criticism, or reflection really, and he’d sought, searched, located, snuck and secreted the panties back to his room without raising so much as an eyebrow from anyone else.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Genius.”

He just wants you to look at him. 

Or text him even. Anything to acknowledge that you’re okay about what happened three days ago. The first conversation, after he’d carried your pleasure-jellied body back to your room, hadn’t gone at all to plan and he bitterly replays it over and over, grumbling at himself for fumbling however many opportunities. He’d missed waking you and then Sam turned up and somehow scrambled it all…

_You walked into the library, surprising Dean with your early appearance. He waved a few fingers and you smiled back awkwardly as you took a chair opposite his, shrugging a few times as if to start a sentence, and just as Dean’s about to start one for you, Sam walked in._

_“Y/N! Hey! You’re back!”_

_“Yeah!” You sat up straight and smiled for Sam, fixing your attention on him._

_“Hey, didja see the heater?” Sam waved his hand up at the wall, showing you the shiny new appliance, and you turned in your seat to see what he was beaming about._

_“Oh, wow! Wow, that’s a proper heater!”_

_“Yeah! We thought you might like not having to wear thermals all the time.” Sam put his hands on his hips, shifting his weight from foot to foot because his shy pride was uncontainable. “We uh, we got it all installed and up and running while you were out!”_

_“Aw, you guys.” You turned to Dean and worked a friendly smile, and he smiled back quite genuinely, wishing he had something to add._

_You went on to Sam, “That’s so kind of you. Seriously, it’s one of the sweetest things. And so impressive you figured it out!”_

_“Oh, that’s our pleasure, Y/N.” He dropped a lopsided grin, as if to brush off the praise and bowed his head to back it up the humility. Dean filled his chest with patience and tried not to whine about his share; he could fish for that later._

_“Hey, so there’s this app….” Sam had spied your phone beside your arm. He tapped it awake and promptly opened up the app they’d used before - the app they thought operated the heater and not your vibrating panties. Damn the unified branding of Heatronics._

_Dean watched you blink and inhale, unable to word something delicate enough to explain, so you helplessly listened as Sam leaned over your chair and showed you what to do. “So, you gotta turn it on with the remote first-”_

_You gulped, “Uh huh.”_

_Sam indicated this step by stabbing the remote over his shoulder while you did your darndest to arrange yourself into something ‘interested’ and ‘relaxed’ but after a few goes you just ended up with your fist in your neck and your elbow not really on the table. Dean winced along with you._

_“It’s just a half-dial. Just up and down,” Sam demonstrated._

_“Oh yeah?” You glanced at Dean, and he tucked his lips in sympathy._

_“Real easy,” grinned Sam._

_“That’s crazy easy,” you remarked._

_“Yeah, but like, it goes all the way up to 95, so….” He leaned back, tilting his hand a few times to kindly ask, “If we could just keep it below 85-”_

_“Oh, hey, yeah!”_

_“I mean, t-shirts are nice but I haven’t actually got any Carribean music.”_

_“Whaaat? I don’t believe you.” You shifted your phone closer and looked at the app while Sam laughed behind you._

_“So yeah, whenever you need to take off the chill,” he said, hands landing back on his thighs, “there you go.”_

_Dean thought you got through that really well. He’d spent the whole time thinking of what to say when Sam leaves._

_“Seriously, the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” you nodded, then thought, “So, did you guys actually need mermaid scales?”_

_“Oh, yeah.” Sam frowned and looked at Dean, who frowned, too. Their shoulders jiggled up and down. “Pretty much.”_

_“Wow. Thank you. Truly.” You really seemed thrilled to have gotten such a gift, from the both of them, and you gave Sam an upside down smile of_ Gosh _, inspecting the app again until he’d enjoyed himself enough and moved on through to the map room to be on his way._

_With a measured sigh, you tapped your phone home, went to the app store and downloaded the proper heater app. It was as detailed as the actual remote - temperature, vane angle, fan strength, cooling, all of it - and you nodded and chewed your lip as though Dean could see everything you’re doing, which he pretty much could._

_“You gonna turn it on now?” he asked._

_“Uh, no.” You closed the app and tucked your hands under your thighs. “I’ll just grab a snack and turn in for the night, I think. It’s later than I thought.”_

_No, that’s no fun. “I can make you dinner, too,” he said, pointing across himself at the kitchen. “Saved you a steak.”_

_“Oh, thanks. No, I’ll have it another time. Thank you.” You stood up, which made Dean take hold of his arm rests, like he might get up, too, but he didn’t really have a reason to leave, or anything handy to say, so just watched you go._

_“I’ll catch you tomorrow.”_

_It was as though your whole body shrugged, retreating out of the room, and Dean was so surprised, so unprepared, he couldn’t think of what could keep you here. He just knew he’d spent the last 90 minutes with the pleasant feeling that you wouldn’t mind being woken up by him. It occurred to him that he hadn’t planned anything beyond that sweet moment, either._

Since that conversation, Dean’s had to go looking to find you, and getting anything normal– eye contact, full sentences, natural smiles –was like fishing for Loch Ness.

‘No more o’that,” Dean says to himself, hoiking his jeans and doing up the belt. He pulls on a t-shirt and checks his reflection again, scoffing a little that he’s looking for an actual panty-line. There isn’t one and for a moment he wonders if he should’ve worn regular briefs under the panties. With a little shake of the head, he doubles down: you didn’t, so he won’t. He’s going to do this for you, and it’ll even things out.

…

“You know, I think I coped with it at the time because I had to.”

Dean swallows what’s in his mouth and looks at you. Neither of you had been talking, at all, for some time, but he knows exactly what you mean. “It’s not that big of a deal, Y/N. We don’t have to make a thing out of it.”

“It’s just, in retrospect, I would never have asked you to do that. I wouldn’t even joke about it.”

“Okay. Y-”

“So, I’m as embarrassed for you as I am for me.” You smile and nod, but Dean puts down his sandwich and moves the plate aside, looking around the library table for something helpful to say. Is now when he should tell you?

“Okay. Well… I just….” His shoulders start to rise, words slowly lining up, “I get that you’re feeling awkward, but I don’t think you should-”

Your whole body crumples in a wince of incredulity. “Do you need me to describe, out loud, what happened?”

“No- I’m not- I get, _objectively_ , why you’d be embarrassed-”

“Yeah! So, I am!”

“-but it’s _me_!” He cups his hands over his chest, helpfully indicating himself, and nods encouragingly. “It’s just me, Y/N. I don’t want you to be awkward with _me_!” He can fix this. “We’ve been through all sortsa shit together.”

“Not like this,” you say grimly.

“Yes, like this. I’ve had stomach flu,” he offers, and starts pointing at his fingers to list them off. “I got my jeans caught on a barn door during a hunt! Sam slipped and fell in a shapeshifter skin. You- _you_ had that primordial- what was it, like a leach thing-”

“A fluke.”

“The fluke! That was so gross! It was like a sentient zit.” He squiggles all over.

“It’s not the same, Dean.”

“It is. It’s just the wild shit that happens to us.” He bobs his head around, doing his There-you-go face, and you’re still there with the flat, stony stare. “This is nothin’! And, like you said, it happened with me. So, it’s fine. Look–” Dean wipes his hands and tilts his forehead at you for a serious talk. “–whaddya think about this? What if, okay, what if _I_ -”

“Are you guys here?!” Sam’s down the corridor, hollering to find you both.

Dean rolls his eyes, flopping his forearm on the table like a dead fish and slumping into his reply. “Yes,” he drones. “What is it?”

“So, I’m sorting out some stock, right,” he calls, striding into the map room and bounding up the steps, “and I find ondine scales! I figure they’re pretty much interchangeable with mermaid scales.”

“Okay, what’s the difference between ondines and mermaids besides language? I mean, one’s Japanese, obviously, but other than that…?” You tuck your hands between your thighs and pick up your shoulders in a well worn habit of being a bit chilly.

Sam holds up a finger as he lunges around to your side of the table, tapping your phone and selecting the wrong app, again. Dean blinks hard, opening his mouth to correct his brother.

“Huh? So, just do this-!” Sam picks up the remote and turns on the heater over his shoulder-

“Nuh- Sam-”

Sam turns back to the app. “And there you go!” He slides the dial about a half-inch.

It takes one whole second.

Dean pops up, ramming his thighs into the table so hard the whole thing jolts. He has a second go, full of concern, and puts his hands on his hips, blinking. One of his shoulders pushes down, and he looks like he might say something, but all that’s going through his mind is _Hiyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy_ -

“Are you okay?” you check.

 _What. The Fuck. Is this. **Think**_. “…You’re-” Nope. Dean’s mind has unevenly split, and at least one part is on another plane. “W- Hm. You’re no-ot even wearing a sweater,” he says seriously. What the hell possessed him to put on these panties? “Shouldn’t you at least… drrress properly… before you… uuuuse up all the power?”

“Dude, the bunker generates it own.” Clearly, Sam doesn’t feel like being frugal.

“Still.” _Panties?_ Why would he _ever_ , Dean thinks, wear _panties_ outside of a bedroom and some stern supervision? They’re definitely buzzing but it’s much quieter than he remembered, barely more than the hum of a radiator. He lets his arms hang, then changes his mind, actually holding onto his hips, and shifts his feet apart. It doesn’t help and he sees you notice his chest moving oddly, like he’s got hiccups no one can hear. “Emissions,” offers Dean.

“What? No,” says Sam. “Crank it up.” He slides it a third of the way, saying, “Enjoy yourself, Y/N,” and gives you a warm smile.

Meanwhile, Dean’s held his breath to put both hands on the table and he’s staring at the wood, trying to fathom whether his balls are angry or elated. It’s not really on his balls, as such, since they seem to be twisting themselves away from the feeling, but his perineum, where the root of his cock would bulge during an erection- _Oh God_. He closes his eyes _. That’s coming_.

“Are you really okay?” All things aside, he sure doesn’t look well - pink cheeks, pale forehead, tight breaths - and you’re concerned. “Do you feel sick?”

“Nope. Nu-uh.” He leans his elbows on the table top and points at the book he was reading. “Just gonna… keep…” He turns the pages to no page in particular, and puts his chin in his palm to focus on the text while his rigid legs keep his ass pointed at the wall. That way, it all kinda hangs. Not that the panties hang. But he can pretend if he puts his mind to it.

You and Sam stare at him because you have never seen him read like that before. You’ve never seen anyone read like that before.

“Do you… have a sore back?” you offer.

“Yes.” 

You look at Sam to see what he thinks, but he’s got nothing more than an emphatic shrug. “So, ondines.”

“And mermaids. It’s really the difference between Collies and Hounds….” You and Sam talk about their features, whether the scales are interchangeable, and although Sam ignores his odder brother, you sneak glances the whole while.

Dean keeps frowning at the book, his eyes angrily squinting every now and then. He’s sure he’s not moving. Maybe the vibrations… oscillate? Oh damn, maybe they do. He closes his eyes again, breathing heavily for a while before inhaling hard, twisting his hips, and settling back to his broad stance with a swallowed hum.

Dean can see it, in the corner of his vision, the way your eyes shift so subtly, as though that deep, primal, independent part of a person, the part that’s so undetectably clever, has put two and two together and grown a hunch….

You reach over to your phone….

Dean’s eyes snap to the screen and he clenches his jaw. 

When you put your finger on the glass, his gaze fixes on you… but you decide to leave it, keep it at a third, pulling your hand back and returning your attention to what Sam is saying.

“Don’t be tight with it,” Sam tells you. “It’s not there for ‘almost warm.’” And he turns it up over halfway.

For a quarter-second, Dean’s eyes bulge, but then he feels it– “Yyo- _woah_ -oh-” –and he can’t control his reaction, curling like a cut snake, falling onto the chair, bolting up again, then leaning all his weight over the table, arms straight with his chin tucked into his neck. “ _Hmmm_ ,” he growls, thumping a fist on his thigh. It’s as though he’s trying to jump as high as he can without bending his knees.

“What is wrong with you?” demands Sam.

“Cramp.” Though it sounds more like _Haank_. “Goin’a bed.” Dean starts to move towards the map room, using the table as a crutch, reaching for the wall and tick-tocking down the stairs like a wooden cowboy.

“What the fuck is going on with him?” Sam whispers, watching Dean grab at his ass and hobble away. “S’he got food poisoning or something?”

You listen to Dean’s _Hoo! Ha! Hoo! Ha!_ recede down the hallway.

“I guess.”

…

As soon as Dean shuts his bedroom door, the vibrations cease. “Oh! Oh, man! Thank Christ!” He leans his hands on his knees, tasting the dryness of his mouth, the all-over clamminess, and finally organises the bewildered chub in his pants.

The panties are turned off. You turned it off. Thank goodness.

Then Dean, ever so smart, wonders if that’s because– “Shit!” –you’ve left the library. “Shit. Shitshitshit-” He dashes from desk to bed, then thinks to start taking off his jeans.

“Dean?”

He has the belt and fly undone, thumbs in the waistband… “Yyyeah?”

“Dean…?” There’s no answer, so you slide the dial up and down. 

“HAi! God-”

“Take ‘em off!”

“Y/N- _AAH_!” You’ve pumped it again, just an up-down halfway, and again. “Fuck, couldja- ChrRIST!” And again. “Wa- UHgod!” One more time. _“Knock it off!”_

“Give them back!” This is your instruction, yet you start pumping the dial up and down, at least a third, to a militantly steady beat.

“I-! Ha-shsh. Ho-fuck! _Ah!”_ Something soft slides against the other side of the door, his forearms, you imagine, and from here you can hear him start to breathe with it. In-in, out-out, little “hu-uh” noises every time you start another vibration.

Then, for some spiteful reason, you leave it at half way. _Try that_ , you think. _Idiot._

He shifts, makes some sort of low sound to manage himself, but doesn’t protest at all. If you could see him you’d be watching his feet walk themselves apart.

Your imagination, however, takes this as willfulness, and it makes you set your jaw. Upwards you edge it, listening, as though it’s his breathing you’re controlling. There’s a quite, high little “ _Shit_ ,” sounding close enough to regret, and so you bring it back, nearly all the way down.

“You wanna take ‘em off _now_?”

“Actually…,” he puffs. Something like a hand drags down the door and you hear the handle held. “It’s not that bad.”

 _“What??!”_ You’re furious. The defiant little turd. “Let me in!”

The handle is released and there’s some shuffling, so you slide in, careful not to bash him with the door. He’s standing near the foot of his bed with his hands on his hips as though you’re about to deliver the half-time plan.

“You do not fucking _like_ it,” you growl, incensed that he should be enjoying what was recently torture for you. “How- okay. _What_ did you think was going to happen?”

Dean frowns, shrugging awkwardly at the oh-so-logical answer he puffs out. “I thought if the same thing happened to me you’d be less freaked out about it.” He’s all rosy around his neck.

“How was the same thing going to happen to you?”

Little squint.… “You’d …accidentally use the app?” he shrugs. _Pretty obvious, Y/N._

“Why would that happen?”

“What? I don’t know! You’re always cold! You’d- just-” He waves a hand to gesture at the nouns or verbs you’re supposed to be inserting while he’s distracted. “It’d just be a bit awkward for a while, and then you’d see it’s not a big deal!” See? So obvious.

“But how?”

“Oh, come on-”

“No, seriously, because I wouldn’t _accidentally_ use that app. I know it’s for underwear that’s _supposed_ to be in the laundry basket, not _on your ass._ ”

Dean glares sideways at that fact, his brain slapping itself for being a complete nincompoop.

“And that Sam would use it was, what? A ‘good’ chance? _Likely_? You didn’t set that up at all! Were you hoping your brother would buzz you with me there?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” he shrugs again, still trying to figure out how he would’ve orchestrated that without the sheer miraculous serendipity that had actually occurred. He’s not sure if this interrogation is meant to be happening with a 10% vibration, or if that’s a clerical error, and he absently shakes out a leg.

“Well, either you wanted Sam to somehow buzz you or-” _Or_ …

Oh. Shit. _This_ is not what he hoped you’d infer.

“…Or you just wanted to wear my underwear around, under the premise of maybe making things better.”

Dean stares at the space over your shoulder, waiting for his brain to pick up the evidence it needs to absolve itself yet it seems to be drowning in vibrating stacks of unfiled excuses. “It’s not….” Long blink, internal curses. “I think… I _imagined_ that if nothing happened I would let on to you that you could pay me back, if you wanted. You know, do a little-” He whistles, pulling his waistband down in demonstration. “-and you know. You could even the score. If you wanted.”

You look at your phone. The app is still there, a little band of yellow showing the strength of what’s against him, and there’s Dean standing so crookedly he’s possibly started to melt.

He looks at it, too, twitching his knee again before deciding to stay as he is. “Why are you so angry at me?”

Because he’s so… _okay_. He’s not embarrassed, at all, to have you doing this and it’s just another sign that however he feels about you, it’s not Like That. It’s that awful gut feeling of your self-doubt being spot on.

“I mean, it’s meant to be nice,” he explains. “It _is_ nice.”

“It’s not _nice_ ,” you bite. “ _You’ve_ only had five minutes of it.”

Dean’s eyes get through all of a quarter of a roll, and you react instantly, vindictively, pointing the phone at his groin and sliding the dial up to 100%.

The pitch of the hum zips up the scale, Dean’s eyes widening, ass lifting, and he inhales so hard his back cracks. “ _Jeeezus!_ **AH!** ” All of him twists, one palm grabbing his nuts, the other reaching back for the seat of his pants, eyes squishing shut. You drop the dial all the way back.

“Sit down,” you grit out. “You want empathy? Take a seat, Sunshine.”

With an obedient double chin, Dean drabs his desk chair, spins it around and sits, fists on thighs. He waits there, watching you, sorry and nervous and confused because he’s sure he had a negative reaction to that strength, but he wants more. He really does. And he wants you to do it to him.

You take a few breaths, looking at the carpet between your feet and his, pacing around with hot indignance, ready to _make_ him understand why you’re so mortified, and why it’s indubitably irreparable. You set your jaw, ready to become the villain. “I _suffered_ ,” you tell him. “I fucking suffered. You wanna hear about the trucker?”

“Holy crap, yes.” Emphatic yes. Dean understands there’s a story coming, but this mistakenly guides him to relax.

“Well, buckle up, Buttercup, ‘cause when the trucker appeared, I think I was about… halfway?”

“Halfway home?”

“On the dial.” You hold the phone in front of you and use your other hand, a determined digit dragging the indicator into the orange. 

Dean watches it and his ass slowly rises from the seat. He thinks he’s going to be quiet but-. “ **Je** sus **Fuck** ing-” He grips the chair with both hands, hips levitating, and glares at the wall beyond you with a slowly rolling jaw. You sat through this? “Nnnngod.” He eyeballs the phone, too, because he remembers turning it up way higher than half. “That’s a lot!” he squeaks pitifully.

“You’re starting to sound sympathetic, Dean.”

He swallows his nod, breath pushing hard, and something wooden creaks as if twisted. “What um, what made the trucker turn up?” he chokes out, hoping to move the tale along. The last time you heard Dean talk like that he was trying to beat Sam in an arm wrestle.

“I think had this intensity for, oooooh-” You sit at the foot of the bed, cross your legs and lean your elbows on your knee. “…20 minutes?”

“Noh.” Dean completely ignores your not answering his question.

“Fifteen, at least.”

He checks around for his watch, or a clock, as though him seeing one could prompt you to actually put him through the distance, but he’s not sure if he wants that. “Christ.” He can’t figure out what to do with his feet. He means to keep himself off the chair for however long he can. “Then- then what happened?”

You lean back and bite your lip to stifle your smile. “No-no, let me _set the scene_.” 

This is _Dean_ , the Dean you fight with and beside, who winks and stirs and couldn’t figure out the right app for a fucking wall heater. Someone who’s simultaneously devastatingly handsome and embarrassingly cheeky, and now your humble phone has his dick on the wire. Gosh. Power is intoxicating.

He can see now that you’re in no hurry and that your mood is quite unkind. He winces at what’s coming and tests lowering himself back down again, quickly deciding no, not yet.

“The traffic had slowed, so I had to change gears a bunch of times, moving my legs about, because we kept stop-starting.”

He can’t keep hovering, but he can’t quite bring himself to mimic a clutch and accelerator. He can imagine it though. “Uhuh.”

“You ever buttered your toast while wearing a butt plug?”

“What?! _No!”_

“Well, I feel like I have!”

“Oh my god!” The ridiculousness starts Dean giggling weakly. “A-ha-ha-ho-shit.”

“It’s this totally mundane thing; driving a car, lookin’ at the countryside, billboards for Ray’s real estate, plus a sex toy!” You wave your arms around like it’s a regular conversation, getting comfy. “Just me and the radio. The cows. And my vag.”

“I think,” he giggles, “I think that’s the point! Ah! Shit!” Slowly he lowers himself to the chair, his breath shuddering from gut muscles that can’t stay still.

“So, this guy turns up, and he’s all, ‘You okay, ma’am?’”

Dean curls over the sensations a little, but he keeps watching the phone, keeps himself tuned into your voice so he doesn’t stray.

“He’s lovely and kind, leaning against the roof, and I tell him I’m having an anxiety attack.” It’s ludicrous, you’re shrugging like it’s ludicrous, and Dean giggles, flinching at how it bounces him into his pants.

“He was such a sweetheart, De.” You deadpan it, and stand up, leaning over him like the trucker did. “All ‘Just work it out ma’am, you do whatever you need to do, I’m _right here._ ’” You rub a hand across Dean’s shoulders, and he starts an _Ha-ha-Ah-ah-oh-my-god_ kind of wheeze at the way it tilts him side-to-side into the seat.

“And then,” you grumble, jaw first, “mid-conversation, _you_ fucking turned it up!”

Dean sees your thumb move, watches the dial shift into the red, and “Aaaa _Hahhhhhh_ fuckfuckfuck!” He leans back and forth, searching for relief somewhere and grabbing his knees because there is none. He rocks forward so hard he comes out of the seat, but that’s not part of the experience, and his thighs aren’t cooperating anyway, so he rocks backward, tipping the chair a few inches, and grabs hold of his crotch like he can crush the feeling in his fist. That just makes it worse, and Dean cries out in grief.

You sit down, determined to feel zero pity while he goes through what you survived. “ _Isn’t_ it just?!”

“Jesus Fucking Christ!” he squeaks. “Couldn’t he tell what’s going on?”

“I told him I wouldn’t answer my phone while driving!” _Isn’t that amazing?_ says your face, and Dean’s breathy _Wha-ha-hat?_ bounces out of him laughing all over again at the luck.

Now he can’t inhale because he’s got the giggles and his dick is wishing he’d just have a solid cough so it could pop. He’s got his hand over his mouth just to cope. Moments later, with you grinning your toes tight as you sit on the bed, Dean sucks in a lungful of air and tries to sit up straight.

You look so pretty, all ablush and biting your lip, and Dean can feel the familiar ache of his cock now, familiar because it’s been to do with you for so long. Having you and this hard-on in the same room, you in control of his pants, feels pretty dangerous. 

“He was handsome, too, Dean. Checkin’ the traffic for me, and so attentive. Any other day, you know?”

“Yeah, I bet.” Dean’s suddenly aware of how vulnerable he is right now, and thinks again of you out on the road, stuck in traffic, hot like this, with some strange… nice guy, some random Joe who got to see you this desperate, this… _needy_ … Jealousy isn’t a big enough name and he’s hoping his hurt doesn’t show. The word _Unfair_ is right on his tongue. How is he going to keep his secrets in his head, let alone his pants, with this truth-button on his ass?

“And I’m just hoping he can’t see me sweatin’ like a demon in a devil’s trap ‘cause my voice’s started to get a vibrato.”

Maybe looking at the ceiling will help him. “Ooooooh, sweet Jesus,” pleads Dean. “Jesus Christ.”

“Oh you bet I started prayin’! And he’s right there with me, callin’ Amen, ‘cause _we’re with Jesus now, Dean.”_

Again he’s at the mercy of his giggles, then starts to wheeze out each breath with a pleading whine, “Please- Y/N. O’god- next. What’s next?!”

“You turned it down,” you say, and do so.

It only eases the torment a little, and Dean slumps back, puffing heavily and grabbing at the inner seams of his pants. Vaguely he’s aware of what you’re seeing - maybe the shape of his cock since it’s filling out behind the left pocket, and his temples are beading sweat. He probably looks like he’s just sprinted a mile and he notices how tender his lips feel, the ache in his hands from flexing on his thighs thanks to the relentless hum against his junk. “How the fuck did you get home?” he whines. He can’t imagine walking right now, let along controlling a vehicle. “Why didn’t you take them off?”

“No privacy. And by then I just wanted to get back.”

“Yeah… I bet,” he puffs. “So the trucker guy left?”

“Uh, _no_. He wanted to escort me home! Can you imagine it?! His great big semi-trailer! Right behind me! Supervising my car bunnyhopping all the way back!”

Dean turns his face away from you, doing some sort of bitten-lip, pleading laugh that may have also been whimpering for mercy, of which you have none. “Oh god… Ple-hease… I can’t…” he pants, wiping an eye. “Did you even come?”

“Not until you-”

“Dean?” That’s Sam. Outside the door. 

Dean ducks, as if to hide, and glares at you. You glare right back.

 _Knock-knock._ “Dean? You there, Y/N?”

“Uuh-yeah!”

Dean starts flapping his hands at you, as though you’re meant to give him something.

“Is Dean okay?” asks Sam.

“Yeah, he’s uh- he’s sick.” You lean in, whispering, “ _What?_ ”

 _“Gimme the thing!”_ Dean whispers back.

“You guys need anything?” You hadn’t even heard Sam turn up. What the hell did he hear?

 _“Moan,”_ you hush. “Uh, nope! No, I got the bin and some water- _Fucking moan! Be sick!”_

_“No I’m not moaning!”_

Suddenly your chin juts forward. You hold up the phone and you jolt it in your grasp as your thumb zips the vibrations up and down.

“UH- **HUH** ohh!” Dean groans, eyes bulging at the sound, because he meant to moan but not like _that_.

You glare aghast at each other again, him in horror and you, quite simply, offended. “ _I said moan, not_ _come_.”

Dean frowns like he might start to cry.

“Oh man, look, there’s Gatorade in the fridge-” Sam talks, and Dean uses the moment to swipe at the phone, falling short with his aim. “-crackers in the cupboard-” You’ve yanked your arm back, scolding him with your eyebrows, “-and some oranges in the bowl-” Dean furiously tries again, apparently paraplegic from the panties. “-I don’t wanna catch whatever you’ve got, so-” He grabs your thigh, lunging across your reach again and you stand up, almost tipping backwards onto the bed. “-I’m just going to put the drink outside the door?” Then Dean, in fierce determination, holds his breath and stands, salmons himself into the air, towards the phone, pushing you onto the bed. “Lemme know how you go, okay?” You manage to turn away from him and he lands on your back, his heavy, burning body pinning you to the mattress, with a pleasant hum tickling the back of your thigh. Dean’s fingers dig into your upper arms and he chokes, _“UHhoJesus.”_

“Uh! YeahSam!”

“Text me if you need a run to the pharmacy.”

“I will!” You shift yourself forward, Dean’s useless legs laying long on yours, and he pushes himself up enough that you can get your knees under yourself, his heavy legs curving helplessly behind.

 _“Hk! Fuck! Hnnnn-!”_ He starts a pleading whine at the way his jeans put the vibrations so gently on his skin. _“Don’t move!”_ he rasps.

“What?”

“I can do a run, if you need,” Sam repeats.

“Oh, thank you! Um-” You’re on all fours now, under Dean, and he’s starting to curl himself around you, an arm over your shoulder, the other under your chest, fists crushing your t-shirt, with his hot breath blowing across your back and his damp forehead grinding into the curve of your shoulder. You feel him tuck his groin, up against your ass, like a nuzzle, and then again, and you force yourself to sound normal while that happens a few more times.

“I don’t think we need anything just now,” you report, only slightly quicker, and slightly louder, than normal. “But I’ll text you if we do. It’s probably just something he ate.”

_“Uah!”_

“That’s too bad, Dean. Good luck, man!”

“Th-hank you!” Dean’s arm, the one over your shoulder, slides away, his palm dragging firmly down your side and all four fingers hook into the waistband of your pants, pulling them downward, and pausing.

“What are you doing?”

Over the receding sound of Sam walking away, Dean swallows and puffs, swallows again, getting a grip on himself….

“I jus’… gimme a minute.” He’s positive he couldn’t live through dry humping you just to blindly cream his pants. Avoiding that is the current short term goal. Then he starts to slip sideways. “Mm! Help!”

You reach back to grab his fist and press it to your waist, tilting your body and hitching your hips up to try to keep him on like he’s asked.

But that wasn’t what he was asking for, not that exactly, and he’s now shucked up against your ass again, the bump of him making your thumb slip over the phone and knocked the vibrations upward.

“A- _oh_ , hoh fuck!” Dean scrambles again, big broad hands pressing up into your chest and belly, fingers curling, nose right up into your hair where you can feel him sweat and suck his teeth, and all of him clamps on so damn hard you gasp “Ah!” at the pinch.

You’re _gasping_. 

“Oh _f-ck_!” He can’t- can’t deal. Not this. “Shit.”

“Hu-! _Dean!_ ” You squirm beneath him, trying to ease his hold somewhere. Doing your damnedest to keep your mind sensible. His heat is scalding you, teasing you towards fantasy, and your arms are starting to give.

But you’re _squirming beneath him_ , and he can smell you, hear your little noises that are like he’s– and he can feel that dint between your ass cheeks, a little gap of give right beyond his fly, right where you’d be if–

“Dean, can you-”

 _Can I what?_ He doesn’t choose to tuck his hips against you. _Ask me, ask me_ \- It’s more an instinctive escape from the panties, but it sparks gut-deep memories and suddenly his mind puts it all together. With a blind, surrendering moan, he lets his lips press into your neck, pretends his tongue isn’t pushing between them, and he gives in to the fact that this right here is where he’d be if he was inside you, in your wet heat, tight and snug, with you, making you ask him for things, gasping like this, and those goddamn vibrations, fuck if he pushes, just a short– if he pushes, it’s _good_. It’s _you_. And maybe you would-

“No! Ah! A _huh-hu-hu-hu-hu-hmm!_ Hmm! Hmm-m-mm!….”

His moans seep into your hair, dampen your scalp, and you stare at the blanket, trying to not feel his lower belly contract, or his cock bump into you. Instead you focus on his heart, as if to look after him, while his body reminds you of every fantasy you’ve had since you met him. It was some time ago that your groin warmed about the situation; now it’s about ready to rebel. But you hold fast and wait, because he is your friend, and he looked after you once, too.

…When his ears stop ringing, and all he can hear is his heart and your breaths, he notices his ass. He can’t tell if the panties are turned off or if his skin has gone completely numb. He thinks that if he got undressed he’d find his junk has noped right off and watch it roll out of the panties and onto the floor.

You start to lower yourself and he tries to make his knuckles uncurl, except his arm gets caught under you, from ribs to shoulder, and he doesn’t want to seem rude….

So you’re on your belly, with Dean kind of hugging you while he looks at you from over your shoulder, inches from you chewing your lips. There’s a squinty-blinked moment when you realise something has leaked out the waistband of his jeans, onto the back of your right hip.

Dean feels that happen. He gets a strange flash of a car tumbling down a hillside and bursting into flames.

He peels himself off you, enough for you to rise a little, too, and release his arm. He looks down at the mess and cringes at the unfortunate amount of cum over your bare hip and waist; it’s melted and dribbled everywhere. “Don’t move,” he says. So you lay there while he grabs a tissue and gathers up his jizz from you and your clothes, whispering, “Uuuh, dammit.”

“What?”

“I just-” He feels like such a skeevy guy, which is quite new and awful. 

Could you tell? Is there a way he can just know whether you could tell it was about you, and not just a sex toy? Probably not. “…It’s so gross.”

“It’s just come.” You turn toward him and roll a little. “It’ll wash off. Did you not expect to come?”

He’s sitting on the end corner of his own bed, looking at you in your comfy clothes and a stain of his, laying on one elbow, with your feet hanging off the end. “I know I didn’t have a plan,” he concedes, “but… _that_ ….”

“No, wait.” You sit up properly, pointer finger first. “Are you embarrassed?”

“Oh, not-”

“Are you mortified? ‘Cause it’s only _coming_ , right? No big deal?! It’s just-” You frown and wave around the room. “The shit that happens to us, right? And it’s only _me_! So it’s nothin’! _Right?!_ ”

Dean can’t really tell if you’re upset or stirring him. He knows, right now, he should say _Yeah, it’s only coming. No big deal._ But he can’t. 

You’re a big deal.

Coming on you is a big deal.

Your tone softens some and you keep talking: “You just spent however long trying to convince me that no such thing should upset me and of _course_ it’s going to upset me, Dean. It’s intimate! And you’re not just anyone, you’re-” You stop, and blink, pausing because if you step on that stair it’ll creak and give you away.

Dean wraps his hand around your wrist, and watches you look at it. He imagines how else you could act if you were being merely friendly, making a shy joke, or a kind forgiving smile, or a pat on his shoulder. But you’re not being friendly. You’re blushing.

He reaches across to get a gentle hold above your elbow, watching you look at his hands and not him, and leans towards you, pulling you closer, until he can smell the warmth of you furling up your side. “I’m embarrassed. And I didn’t see it comin’.”

You look him in the eye, as though that proves you’re unaffected, as if he couldn’t see through it.

“What’re the chances we’re embarrassed for the same reason?” In a most unambiguous hint, Dean looks at your lips, clenches his jaw and looks back into your eyes, waiting for your answer.

“We’re embarrassed because… because we lost control, with each other, and a very… private thing happened.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s not why I’m embarrassed.” Dean calls bullshit. “I’m embarrassed because I just fuckin’ figured out that that’s not how I wanted it to be, the first time I came with you.”

For three hot seconds he waits to see if you’ll laugh, break away, scoff, anything, and when all you do is peel your lips apart in surprise, he breaks.

“God damn-” Hand hooked on your neck, Dean kisses you, thumps his lips onto yours and curses “-son of a bitch,” as he tilts and locks his mouth right over yours.

It’s glory. Soft, wet and full. You let him kiss you however he wants, just sit there and drink in the shock of affection-

“Am I right?”

“Hm?”

He’s got hot palms right behind your jaw, holding you in front of him, asking, “You get what I just said, right?”

“You… want me?”

“Yeah.” Sounds about right. Actually- “No. I mean, yeah. I do. But I know you, don’t I. So it’s not just ‘want’. It’s….” His gaze slips down. He doesn’t have the words.

“More.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s me.”

“That’s right.” He nods, satisfied with that. “It’s not nothin’.”

“No. It’s us.” You smile, and he grins.

“Us,” he says.

And you thrill with relief. “Okay then. Well….” He’s still facing the bed and you’re still facing the door. “Can you move?”

“No, my legs are pretty much an illusion right now.”

“Right!” You laugh, giddy with the feeling of laughing like this with Dean, in his room. “So you’re practically helpless. How ever will I take advantage of that?” You pull yourself onto the bed and kneel beside him, beaming at his arms shepherding you onto his thighs.

“Careful, I’ll get these damn things back on you one day.” His nose follows you down, and he plants his feet to make a sturdy lap, licking his lips at you settling into his hold with your arms around his shoulders. “What’s your safety word gonna be?”

“ _Trucker_.”

Dean had his chin tilted up for your already, but loses it, knocking his forehead on your jaw while he laughs, and you feel yourself go all tight for having made him giggle. You put a palm to his cheek and see if he’ll respond, drinking in the sight of Dean tilting into it as he looks up at you.

“Not next time, though, yeah?” he says. “Next time just you an’ me.”

You nod. “Hyyyyyeah. Yes. Very.” You lean down for his lips and he watches you do it, trying not to hold his breath over it all coming true.


End file.
